Before the killing in the hotel could start they would have to get rid of me. I was standing between them and the prize targets inside. We had senators, doctors, ministers, priests, maids, peasants, housewives, intellectuals. Inside the Mille Collines was the remnant of what might be called the “Tutsi aristoc-racy”-the living embodiment of the phantom enemy that the hate radio was preaching against-as well as a good contingent of moderate Hutus who did not agree with the genocide. The hotel was becoming a holy grail of the killers, a giant resting place of cockroaches they were eager to wipe out for good. I was convinced we would be invaded by the militia any day. I knew also that that would mark the day of my death. We were all condemned prisoners, but we did not know the date of our execution, and we woke up every morning wondering if we were in our last few hours of consciousness.

In the early morning of April 23 I went to bed at around 4:00 A. M. I had spent several hours on the phone in the office, getting nowhere, as usual. I quietly unlocked the door of the suite so as not to wake up the other occupants, and fell into the spot that Tatiana had saved for me on the bed. I knew nothing but blackness for two hours and then I felt my wife pushing me. “There is someone on the phone that wants you, ” she said. You could still make phone calls at that point, and it was the reception desk asking for me.

A man whom I’ll call Lieutenant Mageza came on the line. I knew him, but his voice sounded like cold marble. “Are you the manager?” he asked.

I was still fighting my way out of a deep sleep and my answer was thick.

“Yes. What is it?”

“I have an order from the Ministry of Defense for you to evacuate the hotel within thirty minutes, ” he said.

That woke me up.

“You want me to evacuate the hotel?”

“If you do not I will do it for you.”

“What do you want me to tell the guests? Where are they going to go? Who is taking them? What security has been organized?”

The lieutenant was having none of it. “Do you not understand what I am saying? This hotel must be evacuated within thirty minutes. Tell the people here to ‘go as they came.’” He used an expression in Kinyarwanda that means, in effect, if they came by car, they will leave by car. If they came on foot, they will leave by foot. The vehicles that had brought most of the guests were long gone, of course, and so most would have to simply walk away. This spelled certain death for nearly everybody in the hotel. But I didn’t get the impression that the lieutenant was concerned.

I made an instant guess while I sat there in my underwear. If I was wrong, more than a thousand people would die. But I couldn’t dwell on it; I had to take action. And my suspicion was that this lieutenant had not been ordered to do the killing himself. The idea was to shoo us out and let the street militia do the actual murdering. It would be less systematic, and many would surely get away, but it would eliminate the government’s long-standing problem of the Mille Collines.

I decided then to-as the American phrase goes-kiss his ass.

“Yes, I understand what you are saying right now. I appreciate you informing me of the situation. I will comply with what you say. But can I please just have half an hour to get myself awake and get showered before I do what you want? Then I will begin the evacuation.”

“Thirty minutes, ” he said, and hung up.

I did not wash. I did not even put my pants on. I ran five flights up to the roof and looked down at the street. What I saw opened a hole in my stomach. The militia had the place completely surrounded. There were hundreds of them holding spears, machetes, and rifles. It would be a killing zone here in an hour.

I raced down the stairs and back into my room, where I quickly calculated global time. It was early to be calling Europe, but far too late to be calling the United States, which had been worthless anyway. There was only one thing I could think to do: Get on the phone with somebody in the Rwandan Army who outranked the lieutenant and could order him to rescind his evacuation order. I pulled out the black binder and started calling all my generals. Though it was early in the morning I was able to reach several, and I described the threat with what I hoped was the right amount of urgency. Those that I reached knew that the Mille Collines was being set up and were not willing to say who had given the order. I was still phoning for help when a knock came at the door from a reception clerk. Somebody wanted to see me out front, he said. I started to dress, thinking it was probably the last time I would ever put on a pair of pants or button a shirt. Why hadn’t I taken more pleasure out of these mundane tasks of everyday life?

I went down to the reception area to meet Lieutenant Mageza. I was surprised instead to see a very short man wearing the insignia of a colonel on his shoulder and assorted colorful medals on his chest. I recognized him as a high-ranking police officer named Ntiwiragabo.

“What is the situation here?” he asked.

“I have been asked to evacuate the hotel, ” I told him.

“The plan has been changed and this is why I’m here, ” he said.

I knew then that one of my phone calls had worked. This colonel had been sent over to help me. I told him that the order had been given by a lieutenant and that it was a very bad order that could have terrible repercussions for the Rwandan government. There would be killing outside that would shock the conscience of the world community.

The short colonel nodded, with an unfocused look in his eyes, and said that he would take care of the situation. I found out later that he had been sent over by the chief of the police, General Ndindiliyimana. His rank carried the day. The militia and the soldiers were immediately dispersed and the evacuation order was called off. The lieutenant, who I later learned was the nephew of a top génocidaire, had stolen away.

I thanked the colonel profusely.

“Sir, you have saved lives today, ” I told him.

“I am only doing my job, ” he told me curtly, and walked away.

I knew this peace was fragile, and so I decided to switch from ass kissing to bluster. What I was about to try was a serious risk, but I saw it as the only way to insure that an invasion could be prevented for at least the next few days. I paced around for a few minutes, took a deep breath, and then telephoned the Diplomates Hotel and asked for Colonel Théoneste Bagosora, one of the leaders of the genocide, who was staying in Room 205.

“Colonel, ” I said in my most officious voice, “I am sorry to disturb you. I have received an order from the Ministry of Defense to close down the Mille Collines, and as the general manager of all Sabena properties in Rwanda, I must therefore also close the Diplomates.”

I could practically hear his veins bulging on the other end of the phone.

“Who has given such orders?!” he screamed at me.

“I do not know; they were relayed through a lieutenant. He said his name was Mageza.”

“If you try to close this hotel, we will break down the doors to get back inside.”

“If you want, you can do that, but it is my duty and obligation to close down all the Sabena hotels in Rwanda, ” I told him. “I didn’t want to take you by surprise. I only want you to have enough time to pack your things.”

He was silent for a minute.

“Well, that order has now changed.”

This is what I was waiting to hear. But I decided to press my advantage even further. Sometimes, when you have a man temporarily on the ropes, it is better to secure all the concessions you can. I tried to forget I was talking to a man who could have squashed me like a bug. We had known each other slightly before the genocide, but we had little in common, and there was no pretense of either of us doing any favors. I think he must have been afraid of the French. I felt very much like a small boy whacking a vicious dog with a stick-and getting away with it.